Intelligence
by Saiyachick
Summary: Emmett Cullen is not the idiot as everyone makes him out to be. Oneshot


Disclaimer: I don't own the Twilight series. That right belongs to Stephenie Meyers.

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**Intelligence**

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They all stare, baffled, as Rose and I enter the classroom. A sigh of aggravation escapes my lips and I feel her squeeze my hand gently. She too understands my irritation with these simple minded humans. The two of us hand the instructor our schedules and sit in the back of the room.

"Everyone, we have two new students. Emmett Cullen and Rosalie Hale."

Whispers spread across the classroom. The boys ridicule me, while worshipping my fine haired angel. The girls sneer at Rosalie, throwing jealous stares in her direction. They are all confused. Envy, lust, awe, and spite emit from their eyes and words.

The professor asks a question about the subject, staring tauntingly at the sea of students. His gaze shifts to mine. He demands the answer to his question. The look in his eyes is amused, and somewhat daunting. The professor means to embarrass me, to scare me off from his very presence.

I reply coolly, my answer perfect.

He raises an eyebrow, nodding his head without the slightest thanks. The students turn back to me, wide-eyed and shocked. My knuckles crack as I clinch my hand into a fist. Anger seethes in my veins, and I feel Rosalie rub her hand across my arm soothingly. My mood is usually well-tempered and vicarious, but I cannot _stand _their absurd assumptions and contemptuous scorns.

The professor asks yet another question, this time directing it towards my Rosalie. She responds with nonchalance, and goes back to her note taking. I could see the professor's eyes wide a bit as he turned back to the board. A low growl escaped me lips.

"Be calm, Emmett," she whispered in assurance. "He is a mere fool."

"I _hate _it," I murmured, taking even breaths. How ironic the situation is. Usually Rosalie is the one with the temper.

She pats my hand empathetically and continues her note taking. I sighed once more, following her actions. I knew what they were all thinking, even though I did not hold Edward's ability. It is the same thing everywhere. Wherever we go, the same mockery follows.

I am not an idiot. I am not a fool. I have maintained a GPA of 4.0, and sometimes above when the system is weighted with honors or advance placement classes. I may act like a child in some cases, but that is because I live life on impulse. I have a lively soul, but that does not make me a buffoon. I look like the sporty type because I enjoy outdoor activities. It is because of my appearance and attitude that I am constantly judged.

Rosalie knows of the derision I endure. She too is subjected to this contempt and gossip. Because she is beautiful and flawless, all think Rosalie is a dimwitted airhead. She is anything but. No one would think that my lovely angel indulged on cars and their mechanics. Rosalie is not one to be taken lightly. Her grades are impeccable as are mine.

It is the same everywhere. These petty humans with their pathetic mindset; I use to be one of them, but I never held so much judgment for another. We suffer because these humans find our appearance and persona mere indiscretions. Yes, I did have the advantage of going through these lessons over the many years I have lived, but even at first chance I understood the subjects perfectly.

The professor asks yet another question before the bell rings. I stare at him, bored, and answer the inane question with ease. He stares back with a smirk. "Wrong," he says, eyes dancing with mirth.

A few snickers come from the boys as they mutter at how I am _all brawn and no brain_.

My eyes narrow at both the boys and the teacher. I kick out of the seat, march up towards the board, and grabbed a pen. The teacher demands to know what I am doing and I say that I am proving _him _wrong.

"Sit down, Mr. Cullen!" I ignore the old man's request and continue my writing. As I finish, I point out the mistake in the book and compare it with mine. The professor stares at the book, his eyes appraising my proof once more. He clears his throat, an embarrassed flush on his cheeks. "It seems as if Mr. Cullen is right."

I turn to him, rolling my eyes, and I turn to the rest of the class. I walked down the aisle of seats, one thing burning in my mind. I know what I am, and what I am not.

And what I am _not _is stupid.

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Authoress Note: So I was surfing through a few stories, and saw that a LOT of the "Emmett" lists and stories make him out to seem like a fool. Rosalie is also characterized as an airhead and I just fumed a bit. I wrote this piece because I too have been in the same boat. Much love.


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